


Letters I Never Sent

by littlebirdofprey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdofprey/pseuds/littlebirdofprey
Summary: Letters that Jowan wrote while Sasha was off searching for the urn.
Relationships: Jowan & Female Surana (Dragon Age), Jowan & Surana (Dragon Age), Jowan & Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Letters I Never Sent

I think I dreamt of you in the dark.

Somewhere between the skittering rats and dripping stone ceilings I found peace in my punishment and my mind rewarded me with you. I didn’t think of what I’d done to Arl or his family, I didn’t think about the Teryn or what he had tricked me into doing, and most surprising of all, I didn’t think about Lily.

I thought of you. 

I thought of our time at the Circle, or at least, the good parts of it. I hoped and prayed that you were okay, that the consequences of my mistakes hadn't been passed to you instead. I should've known you'd always be okay without me, you left the tower a Grey Warden instead of an apostate. You've always had that kind of luck, Sasha, when terrible things happen, you land on your feet while I usually fall flat on my face. 

But sometimes, that luck graces me too. They’re letting me stay in a real room while you search for the Urn. I’m locked in and there are any number of guards in the halls at all times, (all the clanging metal sort of blends together after a while so who's to say how many are on patrol) but I am used to gilded cages. Of that I know you understand.

I'm sure they've only granted me this courtesy because of you, because you helped me right some of the wrong I'd done. You chose me to go into the Fade, you gave me the chance the Circle refused to give me. I don't know how to thank you for that, whatever happens to me when you're done cleaning up my mess once again, I need you to know how thankful I am that you've always been there for me. 

I've little to do in this room but wait, wait and write and wait some more. What will happen when you return? I don't expect them to spare my life, whether the arl is cured or not. Would you defend me even to that end? Argue for my life even as the executioner's axe looms? I'd like to think you would, no, I know you would. Because that's the kind of person you are. You're patient and forgiving and compassionate, you would do anything to stay the hand that would wield that axe. Part of me wants to tell you not to fight for me anymore, to just let me go because I am tired of always needing saving. 

Part of me has always hated my magic. From my father eagerly casting me off to the Circle when my abilities first manifested, to the Chantry telling me all my life that I only exist to serve, that the Maker himself named me as sinful when he marked me with magic. You have always seen me as more, even when I was content to see myself as the world does. I need to thank you for that too. I could ramble on and on for a thousand pages and never say thank you enough. 

So, I'll thank you one more time before this candle burns down. I pray my dreams bring me the same peace they did in the dark, and that I can remember them when I wake up. That way, maybe someday I can tell you all about them. All I remember from before is that you shined so brightly, like your magic was reaching out to me. It was a perfect kind of dream, the kind that doesn't do any justice to immediate reality. That's the allure of dreams and the Fade though isn't it? That they build themselves to be so comforting and warm that you find you would rather stay asleep. And that's when the demons get you, when you feel the most safe. 

But, Sasha, you've helped me realize that I'm stronger than demons, both real and metaphorical in nature. I want to believe in a better future for myself even if the odds are low. You make me want to leave places better than I find them, I only hope that one day I'll learn how. 

I dreamt of my parents last night. It made me realize that I no longer remember my mother's face. I could pass her on the street and be none the wiser. 

I wish that were the case for my father, I can still picture all his features, and all the usual ways they would twist and wrinkle when he was angry or disappointed in me. Which was often. I was so young, how could I have done so much wrong already? Sometimes I wonder if my father would've sent me away even if I didn't have magic. My being a mage seemed a convenient way to say he'd always been right about me, that I never should've been his son. 

I suppose that, in every way that matters, I'm not. I believe that even for all my faults I have become a better man than my father could have raised. The way he seemed to resent my very existence made me wonder if he wasn't actually my real father. 

I used to pretend he wasn't. I'd hide in the barn, climb up to the hay loft and imagine the type of father I thought I deserved. It was a game I played often, after I'd done the most of my chores. 

I continued those daydreams even at the Circle. On the hard days I would come very close to convincing myself that my "real" father was on his way. That my being sent to the tower was a mistake and that I was finally going home, my real home with a father who saw me as more than another ungrateful mouth to feed. 

You used to ask me why I was always staring out the window, that's why. That was how I earned my love of the night sky, by staring out that window until the soft light of millions of stars gently took over the heavens to let the sun rest. 

I remember you watching the stars with me. You'd pretend you were studying or practicing, but I knew you too well. 

Did the stars bring you the same comfort? Do they still? They have for me and I believe they always will. 

I wish I could think of more interesting things to tell you, Sasha. Maybe I won't send these letters to you after all. Not that I think the arl's wife would permit me to send anything. Not that I know where even to send them. 

I hope you come back safely soon. There's a lot of loose strings between us, things that should be tied off properly before either of us can move on. Though, of all the things I happily left behind, you're not one of them. Life will never be how it was, but it's a good change, a vehemently welcomed one. Here's hoping that the forces of change stay on our side. 

Lady Isolde had me brought to the dining hall tonight. It was just the two of us at opposite sides of a long table, save for the four statuesque guards standing motionless behind her. 

We ate in silence and I was too ashamed to ask why I was here. I couldn't even meet her eyes.

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I picked and poked at my food waiting for her to say something, anything. The silence hung so heavily in the room I could've cut off a piece of it and laid it on my plate. 

It wasn't until a servant came, spared a moment to gawk at the apostate before her, and cleared our plates, that Isolde spoke. 

"I need to know why," she said, and that thick Orlesian accent was grating on my ears. 

It was obvious what she was asking, what she was referring to, but I didn't have answers for her. My reasons were selfish, I was trying to save myself and at the same time misled to believe I was doing something good for once. The teryn made me believe I was doing the right thing for Ferelden, but maybe that's my fault too. Perhaps I was so desperate for redemption that I ignored the warning signs, and that gleam in Loghain's eyes that told me he was using me and that there would never be freedom for the likes of me. 

"I don't have answers for you, my lady," I told her, "I could tell you the truth but you won't believe that, you've already condemned me. You have your own truth. If Arl Eamon wakes, how will you twist your part in all of this? You couldn't stand to let your son go, and look what happened. You're as guilty as me. No bad deed is all one person's fault these days."

I was silent for a moment as I considered how bold I wanted to be. 

"I don't think you have the right to judge me. For all the Circle's faults, it could've given Connor the basic skills he'd need to prevent something like this. Your family is practically royalty, they would have bent the rules for you."

Though her face twisted in anger, Isolde said nothing. She simply rose from the table. Two guards followed her out into the hall, and the other two escorted me back to my room. 

I don't know what she expected from me, but I refused to let her see me as a monster when it was her son that caused all of this. Not that it's Connor's fault for being a mage, and of course I didn't believe the Circle was the right answer. But even I know the Circle would've been a better answer than this.

There are so many gray areas in life, we're all guilty of something. I am what my circumstances made me. I'm trying to atone, don't I deserve that at least? Apparently not, because no one will give me the chance. 

I'm tired, Sasha. Tired of this room. Tired of the pity party I have been throwing myself since I escaped the tower. Tired of despair and regret and guilt. I want, more than anything, to crawl out of this hole I've dug myself in and be better. 

I can justify my actions however I like, place the blame elsewhere wherever it is due, but in my heart I know I've done so much wrong. 

How do I live with myself? How do I pretend that I am not rotting on the inside? 

This is the last piece of parchment I've been able to find in my room, so I guess this is also the last of my writings. I don't know what purpose writing has served. I've found no catharsis in dwelling on dreams and mistakes. Just because I've written them out doesn't mean I've drained them from my mind. The ink dries, and always I am left the same as before I put my quill to the page. 

What will I do now? Stare at the walls, count each ridge in the intricate molding where they meet the ceiling? There are no books in this room. Worse yet, there are no windows. I miss the stars, Sasha. I can only hope that one day you and I can look upon them together again.


End file.
